


A Small But Useful Piece of Practical Advice

by newbie93



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Less Than 5K, The FitzSimmons Network, Tumblr Exchange, Waiter/Waitress AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 15:08:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4226523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newbie93/pseuds/newbie93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma Simmons has been harboring a crush on her best friend for AGES but it takes a rude diner, an impromptu fist-fight, and some helpful advice to finally convince her to admit it to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Small But Useful Piece of Practical Advice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lucyrinner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucyrinner/gifts).



> This is a fic written for the, "More Than That, Less Than 5K," exchange on Tumblr. 'Tis a gift for the wonderful lucyrinner whose prompt was, “Restaurant AU where they’re both servers and best friends, but they secretly love each other.”
> 
> The title is just one of the many definitions for the word TIP and is meant to be a nod to the whole, 'waiter/waitress,' theme.

“That awful tipper is in your section again.” 

Jemma groans at Fitz’s words, and struggles to fight the blush that rises when he reaches over her shoulder to pound in Table 7’s drink orders on the monitor she’s standing in front of. His arm grazes her slightly and she has to take a steady breath to keep herself in check and stop herself from leaning back against him. 

She knows that her cheeks are likely as red as Fitz’s had been after their impromptu trip to the beach the other weekend, so she shifts her head slightly to get a better view of the dining area and avoid any possible comments on her rosy face. 

Jemma sighs when her eyes flit across the room because, sure enough, Sunil Bakshi is lounging at table 14 and perusing the wine menu with a poshness that makes her want to simultaneously roll her eyes and cringe. 

“Of _course_ he is. I don’t suppose you’ll switch with me tonight?” 

She turns around so that she’s facing Fitz and gazes imploringly up at him, expending every ounce of effort she has to make the puppy-dog eyes that almost _always_ result in him doing her bidding. Jemma immediately regrets the decision to face her best friend because their proximity instantly reminds her of how much she desperately wishes that Fitz were _more_ than just her best friend. 

His hand is still pressed firmly against the screen behind her, all but pinning her between the wall and his body, and Jemma has to mentally stay in the present to keep her mind from wandering. She can smell the aftershave she’d made him buy weeks ago and wishes that her past self hadn’t convinced him to go with a scent that seems to immediately cause her heart rate to double in speed. She can _also_ spot the small bit of tissue on his neck, no doubt the result of him _once again_ nicking himself shaving, and doesn’t hesitate to pluck it off him and toss it in the bin without shifting her imploring expression. 

For a second she thinks she sees his jaw clench and his posture stiffen at their brief moment of contact, but in the next instant Fitz is good-naturedly shaking his head at her in refusal. 

Jemma’s thankful that he’s now scoffing and rolling his eyes at her plea because it means that he misses the way her eyes flicker towards his lips every few seconds, lingering longer on each pass. His small snort actually gives her an _excuse_ to focus on said lips, and Jemma is grateful for the opportunity to stare at his mouth while attempting to actually process the words that leave it. 

“What so _I_ can get the 4% gratuity that asshole leaves? No way Simmons, I’m saving up for next semester’s textbooks and need every penny I can get.” 

Fitz is giving her a look that Jemma _knows_ means he won’t cave and she feels a small wave of unease flit through her as she thinks about having to wait on Bakshi again.

She glances over her shoulder at where the patron in question is haughtily flitting his eyes across the room, taking in the other diners with a cool façade that does nothing to hide his assumed superiority. When Jemma turns back to Fitz, she takes a step closer and grabs the collar of his uniform in a desperate bid to get his full attention. 

“Fitz, _please_ just cover his table _. Just his._ If he leaves a lousy tip, I’ll cover the difference from whatever I make today!”

Her voice is a bit desperate at this point and she watches the way that Fitz seems to blink in confusion at her words. He takes a step back and Jemma is simultaneously thankful and disappointed by the separation. Thankful because the extra space gives her a much needed moment to orient herself and disappointed because she’d much prefer having Fitz even _closer_. 

“Seriously? Why would you do that?” 

He’s looking at her with an expression of wary bafflement that Jemma has come to associate with Fitz’s ability to solve any problem placed in front of him. She knows that it’s only a matter of time before his constantly whirring mind discovers what might explain her desperate plea, and figures that the easiest thing to do is to just be upfront with him and save both of them the time it’ll take Fitz to settle on the accurate conclusion. 

“He’s so _creepy,_ leering at me and asking if I’m, “Ready to comply,” whatever _that_ means, whenever I come up to take his order. Plus he’s always…”

She shivers slightly at the memory of the _last_ time Bakshi had been in her section and had been, “gentlemanly,” enough to brush away a piece of lint that he’d spotted on her blouse. That had been one of the few nights that Fitz didn’t have the same shift as her, meaning that Jemma had relied on Skye as a confidant. 

After the restaurant had closed that night, the two women had exchanged blanched expressions and jokes while prepping the room for the next day’s service. Skye’s agreement regarding Bakshi’s creepiness had made Jemma feel a bit better about her dislike for the man, assuming that if even _Skye_ could be so skeeved out by him, Jemma had nothing to feel badly about. 

Jemma remembers Skye muttering about how pissed Trip was going to be when she told him later that evening about what a creep Bakshi had been, and how _she_ had wondered briefly whether or not Fitz would be similarly upset. 

The thought once again causes a pang of _something_ to run through her as she feels a brief flicker of disappointment at the fact that her _friend_ likely wouldn’t react in quite the same way as Skye’s _boyfriend._  

Fitz seems to instantly notice her shift in mood because he steps forward and places a warm hand on her shoulder, tapping it once to get her to look back up at him. When she does, Jemma’s almost floored by the concern that she sees swarming behind his eyes. 

“He’s always _what_ Jem?”

She blinks for a moment as she tries to remember what she’d been saying before losing herself in the mental mantra of _Fitz is just a friend,_ and sighs with a wince as she considers the best way to answer said friend’s question. 

“I don’t know. He’s just… kind of smarmy. And, aggressively flirty I suppose? Come to think of it… maybe _that’s_ why he leaves me bad tips. Because he’s annoyed that I keep refusing to acknowledge his advances.” 

Jemma tilts her head as she contemplates the likelihood of this idea and is startled out of her reverie when Fitz takes a step closer to her, eyes fixed on where Bakshi is seated behind her, and releases a soft noise that, if she didn’t know better, Jemma would classify as a growl. 

“He’s been bothering you? How long? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?! Have you told May? Has he messed with you or anything?” 

Fitz’s voice is heated now and Jemma can barely keep up with the questions he’s throwing at her. He turns his gaze to face her and Jemma is momentarily stunned by the fierceness in his expression. His normally soft eyes are ablaze now and his jaw seems to clench each time his eyes flit over her shoulder in Bakshi’s direction. 

Jemma’s mouth drops open at the complete animosity she sees within Fitz’s gaze and it’s not until his eyes move back to her, all but pinning her in place, that she realizes she’s spent the past minute silently staring at her friend and answering exactly none of his questions. She’s not sure what she looks like but it’s enough for the fire in Fitz’s eyes to be snuffed out completely, replaced with a tenderness that makes Jemma want to close the remaining space between them.

He does it before she gets the chance but, as Fitz’s arms wrap around her in a tight hug, Jemma can’t help but bitterly think that she’d much prefer a different display of affection. 

Still, she doesn’t hesitate to wrap her own arms around Fitz’s steady frame as she tucks her face into the crook of his neck, smiling against his skin when she feels him squeeze her softly and mutter, “Don’t worry Simmons. I’ll serve him tonight,” into her hair. 

She pulls back at Fitz’s words with a grateful smile before finding the courage to stand up on her toes and place a firm kiss to his cheek. She lingers a bit longer than she probably should, but when she falls back on her heels her smile is still in place and she murmurs a fond, “You’re the hero,” to her best friend. 

His face is a startling shade of red and Jemma worries for a moment that she’s overstepped the ever-greying line of their relationship. She’s about to apologize, not entirely sure what for, when Fitz shoots her a bashful grin and shifts his hand to rub his neck in what Jemma had always assumed was a nervous habit. 

Clearly said assumption was wrong considering nothing at present is something that warrants nerves. 

“Well I think _that’s_ a bit of an overstatement but… I’ll take it.” 

He’s giving her another soft smile that causes the fictional butterflies to beat against Jemma’s stomach. She beams up at his words, silently thinking that ‘hero’ is actually a gross _understatement_ for what Fitz is to her, and gives him an appreciative squeeze on the shoulder before he turns to head towards Bakshi. 

He only makes it a few steps before another voice pops up from behind Jemma, startling both her and Fitz and causing them to turn in unison to face Melinda May. 

“Where do you think you’re going Fitz?” 

She’s standing with her arms crossed in front of her in a telltale sign that she’s not happy with what she’s seeing. Jemma shifts her gaze towards Fitz, who’s gulping with wide eyes at their boss while tentatively pointing his thumb in the direction of the dining area. 

“I was just going to go take care of the guest at table 14.”

May arches an eyebrow at this and her eyes move from Fitz to Jemma, making the latter straighten immediately and frantically try to figure out how to get the older woman to direct her disapproving look _anywhere_ else.

“Isn’t table 14 in _your_ section Simmons?” 

Jemma flounders a bit at the stern look May is giving her and desperately tries to get her suddenly blank mind to start working at its usual genius-level. 

“Umm… technically yes. But Fitz said he’d deal with that particular table for me…” 

May cuts her off with a stern shake of the before Jemma can even finish the sentence. “He will do no such thing.” 

The comment, statement of fact really, causes both Jemma and Fitz to begin their long practiced routine of talking in unison over one another. 

“May, it’s really not a big deal…. 

“I just asked Fitz if he could because…” 

“…my section isn’t even _close_ to being full yet so I can take care of that particular table…” 

“… _really_ inappropriate at times and I’d just feel a bit more comfortable if…” 

“…no reason why she should deal with a leery customer and…” 

“… _more_ than willing to take one of Fitz’s tables to balance things out.” 

“…Jemma can just take one of mine later.” 

“FitzSimmons!” 

Both of their mouths snap shut at the portmanteau. It’s not the first time they’ve heard the moniker, and likely won’t be the last, but each time _FitzSimmons_ is used to describe them, Jemma’s mind immediately goes blank as images of unlikely futures stream through her subconscious. She shakes her head to snap herself out of her daydream, quickly glancing at Fitz’s maroon face before turning back towards May as the older woman begins to speak. 

“While I understand that, at times, my servers will have a need or desire to switch specific tables… tonight it just isn’t feasible. Hunter just took his break and I need Fitz at the bar until his section fills up.” 

Fitz quickly pipes up immediately with a, “Can’t _Jemma_ work the bar?” 

May turns to face Jemma with a look that the younger girl can easily decipher as one that means she likely _won’t_ be working the bar. “Certainly. I didn’t realize you’d acquired your bartending certification since last night Simmons.” 

_There it is._

Jemma shuffles awkwardly on her feet and glances down at the floor as she mumbles, “Umm… I haven’t actually.” 

When she glances back up at May, the other woman is giving her a knowing look and a wry smile that causes the faintest of blushes to appear on Jemma’s face. 

“Exactly. And _that_ is why I need Fitz behind the bar and _you_ to take care of your section _._ ” 

Jemma nods dutifully and reaches into her apron to grab her small notebook. She thinks that May will just turn around and walk away, but the other woman ends up surprising her when she steps forward and places a comforting hand on her shoulder as she speaks softly to her. 

“If there’s any real trouble, just come find me. Okay?” 

Jemma gives a small smile to her superior and nods in understanding, both at the words themselves and their underlying implication. 

“Yes May, I will.” 

May gives Jemma another soft squeeze before stepping back and glancing between her and Fitz. 

“Good. Now back to work.” 

They nod in unison and Jemma waits until May is out of sight before releasing the disappointed sigh that she’s been holding in since first realizing that Fitz’s offer to help her out wouldn’t be happening after all. 

“Thanks for trying Fitz.” 

He gives her a sympathetic look and she quickly brushes her hand affectionately along his back before turning on her heel and plastering a fake smile to her face as she moves towards Bakshi, mentally steeling herself for whatever the night may bring. 

-O- 

Surprisingly, the initial interactions with Bakshi aren’t all that bad. She gets his drink order without a hitch, brings out his appetizer with a polite smile, and places his filet mignon in front of him without feeling a need to bathe in antibacterial soap after. He’s unfailingly polite in a way that makes Jemma all too aware that his manners are likely ingrained in him, the result of a life of luxury rather than any genuine desire to be civil. 

Things actually go rather swimmingly and she manages to shoot Fitz a beaming grin and the occasional wink each time she passes the bar.

It’s not until she brings him the check that Bakshi decides to try his hand at his usual flirtations. 

“I must say Ms. Simmons, you look positively ravishing this evening. Few could do that uniform justice.” 

“Oh… that’s kind of you to say. Here’s your check.” 

Her response, or lack thereof, seems to visibly irritate him because his eyes narrow slightly and his jaw tightens as he takes the bill from her and slides his Black Card into the small binder without so much as glancing at the total. Jemma takes it with a forced smile and an, “I’ll be back in a moment,” before scurrying towards the till. Her smile becomes even more forced when she hastily passes Fitz and, based on the way his brows furrow, Jemma knows that unlike Bakshi, _he_ hadn’t fallen for it quite as easily. 

She shakes her head at him on her next pass of the bar when she moves to return the credit card and customer receipt to Bakshi. Fitz looks as though he’s about to follow her from behind the bar so she just widens her eyes and mouths, “ _Stay,_ ” lips quirking up slightly at the petulant look he gives her in return. 

She returns to Bakshi’s table and politely returns his card and the charged bill, moving to leave him to sign the small bit of paper only to be stopped by his light grasp of her shirt cuff and, “No need to leave. Signed, sealed, delivered.” 

He picks up the receipt and extends it haughtily in her direction, clearly enjoying watching Jemma read the paltry $3.50 he’d tipped her for his $100 meal. Her eyes narrow slightly and taper even more at the sight of the smirk on Bakshi’s face. He clearly assumes that her visible distaste is due to the poor gratuity but, in actuality, her irritation is caused only by Bakshi himself. Jemma could care less about the tip, far more upset about the fact that this truly awful individual seems to have become a looming cloud in her life. 

Jemma rolls her eyes slightly, letting out an annoyed sigh as she reaches for the signed bill and snatches it from Bakshi’s outstretched hand. 

“Is there something wrong?” 

Jemma’s eyes flit to Bakshi’s coal-black ones and she gives him a sarcastic grin to parry against his smarmy smile. 

“No Mr. Bakshi. Just wondering how terrible of a waitress I must be if tonight’s service only warranted a 3% tip.” 

She regrets her statement immediately, more because it goes against her unfailingly polite persona than anything else, and hates the way that it causes Bakshi’s smile to widen as he leans back in his chair. 

“Had you spent more time serving _me_ , and less time mooning over the bartender… perhaps I would have been inclined to leave a more substantial gratuity.” 

Jemma’s cheeks flush in both embarrassment and anger at the less than subtle implication and she clenches her fists at her side as she takes a step closer to Bakshi and all but hisses in his face.

“I’ve spent _months_ serving you and have always acted completely professionally. Maybe if _you_ spent less time harassing your waitresses, _they’d_ be less inclined to tell the chefs to spit in your food.” 

It’s a total bluff. 

Jemma would _never_ do such a thing, too interested in following the rules to ever risk such bad-girl shenanigans, but Bakshi doesn’t know this and his face reddens in anger as he shoots up from the table and grabs Jemma’s arm. 

“Do you have any idea who you’re talking to? I’m the CEO of Hydra Ms. Simmons, an organization that will have no problem shutting this place down and causing you and your coworkers a great deal of trouble. Just because _you_ never get to benefit from this AmEx, doesn’t mean _I_ don’t.” 

Jemma grits her teeth slightly and stares defiantly back at Bakshi, fire in her eyes as she moves to rip her arm out of his grasp. She shifts her head closer and is about to tell him just exactly _where_ he can shove his corporate credit card when she feels another set of hands pull at her from behind. She spots Skye’s wide eyes and gaping mouth, looking at something on her other side, and is about to tell her friend that she’s handling it when something else catches her attention. 

“Hey get your hands off her!” 

The familiar Scottish voice sends a wave of warmth through Jemma that quickly turns to ice when an equally familiar Scottish _fist_ comes flying out of nowhere and connects against Bakshi’s nose with an audible crack. 

-O- 

The following events were somehow simultaneously a blur and a vividly detailed memory that Jemma likely won’t be able to forget anytime soon.

Bakshi and Fitz had become entangled in a rather vicious brawl that only ended when Trip and Hunter appeared out of nowhere to pull the two men off of each other. A black eye was already forming on Fitz’s face by the time Bakshi was escorted out of the restaurant, hands covering his bloody nose and yelling at an impassive May about his plans to ruin her and all of the employees at _The Iliad._  

The threats hadn’t phased May in the slightest. Instead she’d just walked up to Bakshi and whispered something in his ear that caused his eyes to widen and his face to go pale. Trip and Hunter had little trouble pulling him out of the restaurant after that and, as they did, May turned to Fitz with a glare and a pointed finger towards the back office. 

Now that the restaurant is closed for the night, Jemma, Skye, and the other boys are crowded around May’s door, Skye’s ear pressed against it as she translates the murmurs on the other side. 

“Fitz is yelling… Something about having it coming… May _isn’t_ yelling… Oooh. Oh boy. She just suspended him…” 

Jemma cringes at the words and lets her head drop into her hands as she tries to stay calm. 

“…oh but only for a week. That’s not so bad all things considered. They’re talking quietly now… I can’t really make anything ou… oh!” 

The door opens quickly and Skye almost falls through it onto May, who’s standing with an arched eyebrow and a shuffling Fitz at her side. She says something but Jemma can’t make it out because her eyes are focused on the swelling bruise on Fitz’s face and the fact that her best friend is refusing to look at her. His gaze is trained on the floor and she can feel tears prickling in her eyes as she realizes that he’s in trouble because of _her._  

“Did you hear me Simmons?” 

Her head snaps over to May who is giving her a questioning look that seems to have an underlying flicker of sympathy. Jemma shakes her head slowly, eyes still moving over Fitz every few seconds, before shrugging with a sigh at May. The older woman seems to take pity on her and, instead of reprimanding her for not paying attention, she just nods her head in the direction of the monitors and repeats her request for Jemma and Skye to put all of the night’s orders into the electronic ledger. 

Jemma nods once before quickly turning to walk across the restaurant and beginning to methodically input the night’s numbers. She focuses on the task, not wanting to think about the dark mark on Fitz’s face, but not enough to miss the way Skye comes up to lean against the wall beside her with a contemplative expression. 

It’s silent for a few tense moments until Skye tugs at Jemma’s sleeve and stares at her with a knowing look.

“Here’s a tip that’s worth _way_ more than 15% of whatever number is on that bill: if you like Fitz in a _love_ kind of way… you need to actually _tell_ him.” 

Jemma sighs at Skye’s familiar words and resolutely refuses to look over at her friend, instead punching in the last of tonight’s bills into the electronic database. It’s silent again for another minute before Jemma groans and leans her head against the wall in misery.

“It’s not that simple. He’s my _best_ friend Skye, and he doesn’t see me that way. I don’t… I don’t want to ruin what we already have by telling him something he won’t want to hear.” 

Skye lets out a small chuckle at this and Jemma can practically _feel_ the grin that is undoubtedly on her friend’s face. “Fitz just punched a regular in the face because of you Jemma. I have a pretty good feeling that he actually _does_ see you ‘like that’ and _you_ just can’t _see_ that he sees you like that… if that makes sense.” 

Jemma rolls her eyes slightly at her friend, partly because Skye is absurd but mostly because she thinks it might stave off the tears that this topic of conversation always tends to produce. Skye must notice her somber mood because in the next instant, she’s leaning against the wall and ducking her head so that Jemma is forced to meet her gaze. 

“You won’t ruin anything Jemma. I _promise._ ” 

Jemma sniffles slightly at this before turning to Skye with a pitiful expression on her face. “How can you be so sure?” 

“Because I know for a _fact_ that Trip is probably telling Fitz the same thing.” 

Skye nods at something over Jemma’s shoulder and she turns around to see that Trip is in fact speaking with a visibly upset Fitz. Trip is gesticulating wildly, occasionally patting the other man on the shoulder as Fitz holds a small glass of ice to his face. The sight makes something in Jemma twinge and she feels a crushing sense of guilt for the bruise forming on her best friend’s cheekbone. 

Suddenly, Trip is gesturing blindly behind him and Fitz is following the other man’s movement until his eyes are locked on hers. Jemma feels a heat permeate its way through her, but this time she doesn’t try to fight the blush. Instead, she stares at the boy she’s been in love with for the better part of four years and inhales sharply as he stares back. 

They’re both unblinking and Jemma decides to take Skye’s advice to heart, weaving her way across the restaurant and bypassing tables as she walks towards Fitz. Trip conveniently disappears before she makes it to her destination and Jemma is grateful for the other man’s ability to read her determined expression well enough to know it meant that she and Fitz should be left alone. 

She moves forward and grips his face tenderly between her hands, tilting it to the side so that she can gently run her fingers along the swelling and examine him for any more injuries. It’s silent for a few long moments, a palpable tension seeming to surround them, and Jemma holds her breath when she sees Fitz’s mouth open. 

“Jemma, I’m _so_ sor…” 

She cuts him off before he can finish the sentence that he has absolutely _no_ reason to say. “What are you doing?” 

Fitz looks at her in confusion before hesitatingly saying, “Apologizing…” 

Jemma’s eyes widen at this and she steps closer, moving his chin with her hand so that he can see the bewilderment in her face. “Apologizing? Fitz, what on _earth_ are you apologizing for?” 

Now it’s _his_ eyes that are widening and he’s grabbing her hands from where they’re still running over his face. “For… I punched Bakshi! I punched Bakshi and caused a scene and you _hate_ scenes and…” 

Jemma shifts her hands slightly so that they’re loosely twined with Fitz’s and talks through the blush that has once again begun to spread across her cheeks. 

“Fitz. Defending me from creeps isn’t something you ever need to apologize for. I’m just sorry you got suspended because of me.” 

She hopes that he can see the sincerity in her eyes and bites her lip nervously when he sighs and hangs his head, once again avoiding her gaze. He mumbles something softly under his breath, but to Jemma it sounds as though he’s shouted it directly into her ear. 

“I didn’t punch him to defend you.”

She shifts slightly as her mind begins to whir in a bid to understand what exactly his words are implying. “What?” 

Fitz sighs again before looking up at her with an expression that causes Jemma’s heart to pound wildly against her chest as her blood thrums through her veins. 

“You’re the strongest woman I know Jemma, you can defend yourself. I punched him because I was jealous. And I know that, as your _friend,_ I have no reason to be jealous. _Especially_ considering you told me you _hated_ the guy, and I hate him too but the thing is… I love _you_ Jemma, and I just…” 

In the next second, Jemma’s lips are fused against Fitz’s in a kiss that makes every fantasy and daydream she’s ever had pale in comparison. She can feel him tense for a moment before he wraps his arms tightly around her and kisses her back with an enthusiasm that make Jemma grin against his lips. 

When they finally break apart, Fitz’s eyes are wide and they’re both breathing heavily as they struggle to get control of themselves. Jemma thinks she can hear a faint wolf-whistle coming from where she’d left Skye, but is too focused on letting her gaze roam over Fitz’s stunned face to pay the noise much attention. 

“How long Fitz?” 

He blinks sluggishly and the sight makes Jemma’s smile widen. He dazedly shakes his head, visibly trying to snap himself back into the present. 

“What?” 

Jemma shifts her hands and lets her thumbs stroke along the apple of Fitz’s cheekbones. “How long?” 

His cheeks pinken slightly and he tilts his head, nuzzling into her hand as he shoots her a bashful smile. “Remember when we got paired together that first day freshman year?” 

Jemma smiles at the memory and feels something flutter in her chest at the realization that Fitz has seemingly been harboring a crush just as long as she has. “Yes…” 

Fitz grins as he rests his forehead on hers and loosely wraps his arms around her waist with another blushing sigh. “Since about 5 minutes before that when I walked into the classroom and saw you sitting on that rickety old lab stool.” 

Jemma chuckles under her breath and tightens the grip that she has on him as she moves forward and burrows herself in the crook of Fitz’s neck. She smiles against his chest and feels an overwhelming giddiness as she remembers briefly glancing up from her textbook and seeing a blue-eyed boy staring at her from the doorway. 

The two seconds of eye contact had paved the way for a friendship that Jemma spends every day grateful for, and an underlying love that she’s never dreamed could actually be reciprocated. She pulls back to look at the same blue-eyed boy from that first day, slightly older now but still effortlessly able to make her breathless, and Jemma beams at Fitz before closing the distance between them for the second of many, _many,_ times.


End file.
